Summoning Japan to Alagaësia

by sijodtovtkhbhgfvbvnvn

Japan is transferred to the world of Alagaësia just before the start of Eragon. Loosely based on the same premise as Nihonkoku Shoukan.

12. The Punishment of God

The Punishment of God

Jeod did not remember much from his walk back to the city. He was barely aware of a guard saluting him at the entrance, or of the culminations of daily auctions within the town square, where the shouts of the bidders grew ever louder in their last moment efforts to obtain whatever goods were on offer today. If there were other happenings, he did not register them through the fog in his mind.

His feet stopped, and he absentmindedly took in the edifice of his house, before he skipped inside.

His feet climbed the stairs, while his mind saw the monster verge on him for the hundredth time, and then the other Eyes crumpling to the ground, blood splashing everywhere, and then the terrible darkness swallowing everything…

He had not even attempted to bury the other member of Arcaena.

Jeod abruptly entered his personal chambers. Not taking his coat off, he scrambled to the drawers, went down on his knees, and fumbled for the key that would lock the door of this room, his mind struggling to remain in the present.

He did not find it.

"No..." he raved.

In desperation, he stuck his hands into the shelves and hurled out his possessions, one after the other, without the slightest care. Thuds of objects hitting the floor reached his ears, and even the shattering of glass—a material so expensive most peasants could not afford it, but Jeod did not waver in his ransack, not even to have a glance at the wreckage.

Finally he had uprooted everything in the drawers, leaving everything in disarray around his room, and he stared at the empty, keyless shelves.

He clenched his fists and vacantly noted the stinging pain in one of his fingers—he had probably cut himself on something sharp during his rummage. Still on his knees, Jeod stared at the wall before him, without actually looking at it.

Then someone knocked at the door.

Jeod started. "No!" he exclaimed, his voice quivering. "Don't enter! I..." he faltered.

"... Master Jeod?" came the familiar voice of Rolf. The butler sounded confused. "Supper is almost ready. Wine or brandy, master Jeod?"

Jeod drew a deep breath. He needed to compose himself. For them.

"You should serve them some apricot brandy for today," Jeod answered. At least his voice was steady. "I will not be joining you. I am busy with… some important matters. Tell them…" He wavered. "Tell them that I am not to be disturbed for this week. No one is to enter my chambers." He swallowed, trying to gather strength to finish his instructions. "Do not disturb me, even if I do not join you for meals or other routines. And you do not need to send for meals up here. Understood?"

"Are you sure about—"

"Understood, Rolf?"

"I understand, master Jeod," said Rolf. "I will do as you ordered." Nothing more was heard from him but his retreating footsteps.

Slowly, Jeod crawled through the mess of his room to the bed. The last of his resolve expended, he crashed on top of it. Then he did something he had not done in a very long time.

He cried.

---

"Are you sure he said ten murders?" inquired Kazuhiro.

"Yeah," answered Tsubasa.

"Hmm… with median estimates of Teerm's population from several divisions converging on twenty-five thousand… the corresponding homicide rate would be roughly forty per one hundred thousand in that case. Compared to 14th and 15th century Western Europe specifically, this is a decent rate." Kazuhiro leaned back in his chair on the lower deck of the red seal ship, the decorations of the wooden interiors minimal beyond work equipment. Despite being technically indoors, they both wore hantens over their kimonos, as the lack of central heating and limited insulation meant the insides of the ship were somewhat chilly, though the stoves—using smokeless briquettes as fuel—were moderately helpful.

"Decent rate," murmured Tsubasa. "I suppose, if you consider five hundred times the murder rate of Tokyo decent—"

"It's not that extreme, even by the standards of today—Earth today," elaborated Kazuhiro. "There are large cities in developed North America with similar or higher homicide rates than Teerm. Hence Teerm's level of violence isn't unheard of among cities in the modern developed world on Earth."

"I see." Western standards aren't Japanese standards, he wanted to say.

"You don't seem that convinced, eh? Well, I guess I can understand with the anti-Japanese incidents going on—but even that is analogous to Earth of late. Hopefully they're just a temporary occurrence though. Could we have committed some faux pas and provoked them without realizing?"

"We do exist," conceded Tsubasa.

"Cheerful as always, Tsubasa-san," quipped Kazuhiro. He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Already eleven o'clock back in Japan," he remarked. "You're going back for dinner at your hosts'?"

"Yeah."

"Still a lot of meat?" asked Kazuhiro. "I think pretty much all taverns have started raising prices for meat dishes, and started using all sorts of food preservation techniques. You'd think winter would be an opportunity to keep meat naturally refrigerated, if only they timed the slaughter process differently, but to each their own I suppose."

"We still eat nearly as much meat as usual, though it's become a lot more salted and smoked," answered Tsubasa.

"By the way, if you're trying to buy meat, don't bother visiting the meat shop just outside your place. I tried going there earlier, but they closed early, just as I arrived. Apparently the owner is sick with some serious coughing. The next closest meat shop from you should be a few hundred meters, toward the south—"

"Thanks, I do know the route," said Tsubasa. Then feeling that he had been too brusque, he added: "I could ask Jeod-san if he'd like to invite you over for dinner."

"Really?" said Kazuhiro. "That would be superb!" The opportunity to observe up close the domestic life of a wealthier household in Teerm was one few expedition members would pass up.

"It would be at least a week though. Jeod-san has been very busy with work lately."

"That's fine," assured a smiling Kazuhiro. "Thank you, Tsubasa."

Tsubasa shifted awkwardly. "Dinner is soon," he murmured and rose from his seat. He fetched the bar of soap—wrapped in paper—and packed it inside his Kate-bukuro. Since the conveyance of supplies about a month ago—about a hundred kilometers from land—their stock of soap had been more than replenished, which had relieved the expedition members who could now clean their hands after relieving themselves. Each person was allotted one bar of soap every month, though initially they had been instructed to keep its existence hidden from the locals, until a further decision was made. Only two days ago had their expedition been given clearance to reveal the existence of their bars of soap, and neither Tsubasa nor Marie had gotten around to showing it to Jeod yet.

"Oh... I'll see you, Tsubasa-san."

"See you," replied Tsubasa before walking up the stairs toward the main deck, and then the gangway that led down onto shore.

Tsubasa walked at a rather brisk pace, hoping to reduce the time he was in sight of the locals. The streets were, as usual, rather filled with people, doing this and that, and horses with or without carts or carriages trotted the anarchic traffic on the cobblestone roads, alongside the open sewers. One or two people were seen taking a dump in the waters. Quite a few black rats could be seen scampering around for the rotting entrails scattered around the city. Despite the winter cold, a few people were walking around barefoot, their lack of footwear separating them from the nonindigent.

It seemed that, with the winter, economic activity in the city slowed down somewhat. Merchant trading in particular had abated, with ships not passing through port nearly as often. The horses and wagons had also been fewer. The auctions and market stalls were less busy. And people seemed to be leaving work earlier, and not toiling themselves as hard at work. When he had first arrived, people here seemed to be occupying themselves with twelve-hour plus workweeks (the workweek itself was six or seven days), and the daily grind of the many workers had been a rather salient feature of this pre-industrial society. Then again, even on Earth many people worked that many hours in developing countries.

At the same time, people would regularly stop to greet and talk to each other, sometimes appearing to spontaneously drop whatever plans they had had in their mingling. It really did seem that people's daily lives were not as heavily regimented according to schedules and routines, and people seemed freer to live in the moment, doing things on a whim and prioritizing relationships before time-scheduled tasks. Time was more fluid, and plans flexible, if they even existed at all. Such a large contrast to Tokyo, where life was organized around time-scheduled tasks to be done, one at a time, with little spontaneity around that. Tsubasa had overheard from a sociologist back at the ship about how cultures could be classified as "monochronic" or "polychronic" with regard to time-orientation. Apparently the city of Teerm clearly belonged to the latter, like many developing countries back on Earth. Japan or Western countries, not so much.

Walking through the city, he still marveled at the sight of the many timber-framed, slate-shingled buildings, the walls and gates, the arches, the cobblestoned streets, the stalls and wooden signs, the general layout of the city, and more. After four months here, the novelty still had not worn off. Or maybe the city was just such a spectacular sight. Some expedition members had cracked that if Paris could be wished here for only one purpose, it would be to have it inscribe Teerm as a UNESCO cultural site.

As he turned left at an intersection, he almost stumbled into a wobbling man. Tsubasa successfully maneuvered, and continued on his itinerary, sparing the other person a brief glance. The man, unsteady on his feet, appeared to be coughing heavily, and Tsubasa thought he saw something red flying from the person's mouth.

A gust of cold wind almost made him shiver, and looking up at the sky he saw nothing but thick, dark grey clouds. Judging by their color, he would not be surprised if a thunderstorm struck at some later point. Well, hopefully that would make it warmer, both indoors and outdoors. Hantens were decent, but did not provide the same protection from the cold as modern winter jackets, and indoor heating left much to be desired.

As his gaze returned to the road ahead of him, he momentarily stopped as a group of rats swarmed across the path before him. He frowned. Were there migratory patterns during winter he was not aware of, or maybe specific to this region?

As he arrived at Jeod's abode, he was greeted by Rolf. He did not understand every word Rolf said, but enough to know that lunch would soon be ready and that he should take a seat at the dining table.

"Oh hello, Tsubasa-kun," said Marie as he sat down. "How are things at the ship?"

"They are fine, I think," he answered. "I mean, no more attacks reported."

"That's good," responded Marie.

Tsubasa glanced at Marie. Something about her demeanor seemed a little… off. Well, he probably was imagining things—he was poor at reading other people. Better not make a fool of himself by remarking on it.

They did not say anything more as they waited for the food to arrive. Usually Marie would keep the conversations going but she seemed to be in thought over something.

Once the steaming pottage was served, and Rolf and Helen had occupied their seats, Tsubasa set to help himself…

"—Jeod is not eating today here?" Marie asked

"Master Jeod is busy," Rolf answered quickly.

"It is three days," insisted Marie.

Helen sighed. She said something, reminding Tsubasa why he needed to keep studying their language as he did not pick up on her words.

"No, he has not," Marie replied, and suddenly Helen looked a little troubled.

They continued exchanging dialogues for a while, but it was almost too much for Tsubasa to keep up. Yet, he was just barely able to make out the gist of it.

If he understood Marie correctly, Jeod had not touched any of the food Rolf had sent to his room. And apparently Helen had not known of this fact.

Then Marie said something, and the room went quiet. Was it just Tsubasa, or did Helen look a little paler?

"I apologize, Marie-senpai," apologized Tsubasa, breaking the silence in Japanese. "But what did you just say?"

"It's fine, Tsubasa-kun," began Marie. "I asked Rolf if Jeod was still not joining us today. Then… I pointed out to Helen that it was three days since he last ate something. Because he has not touched anything Rolf left on his doorstep, except a little water. And this morning, I started hearing… retching sounds coming from his room."

Tsubasa hesitated. "Perhaps it is… none of our business, Marie-senpai," he said carefully. "And he did instruct us to not disturb him with his important work. People here do work a lot harder."

But it seemed that Marie had other ideas. "It's been three days though," she said. "I think I'll check up on him after lunch before it becomes too dark to see anything. At worst, a minute interruption can't be that bad, right?"

"...I suppose."

---

Tsubasa reluctantly followed Marie up the stairs. Truth to be told, he was rather curious about what was going on behind the doors to Jeod's room. But at the same time, it was not their place to find out, as it was a private matter concerning Jeod's household. The sentiments battled each other as they approached the door.

Behind them, Rolf and Helen went along. Even though Rolf had been instructed to keep intruders away, it had not taken much convincing from Marie, even with her limited grasp of their language. As for Helen… was that a hint of worry on her face?

As they stood just outside the room, Tsubasa heard it too. A harrowing retch, but a muted one, as though Jeod was trying to hide the sound. Tsubasa anxiously shifted his weight. Everything was fine, so why did he feel a knot of unease growing in his stomach?

Marie knocked on the door. "Jeod?" she said softly.

No response.

She tried again, this time louder.

Suddenly a voice answered back. It was coarse but loud, and even though Tsubasa had not caught the words, he could recognize refusal for what it was. They had clearly overstepped their boundaries, imposing on their host who had clearly expressed his wish of not being disturbed.

Which was why he was mortified when Marie opened the door.

And then things got so much worse.

The room was a mess, with broken glass, scrolls, and other antiques (to someone from the 21st century) scattered across the rough wooden floor. And then there was Jeod.

Lying in his canopy featherbed and linen sheets, he looked rather terrible. Chills wracked his body, and his breaths were ragged, his face red and contorted with pain. His bedsheets were covered in… was that blood?

Despite himself, Jeod yelled hoarsely at them as he registered their presence. What he said Tsubasa had no clue. His head could not process the words even if he wanted to.

It was all a bit too much. The blood, the disarray, the shouting. Jeod's ghastly appearance.

Behind him, he heard Helen's shrill scream. It was a scream of pure dread.

And then he remembered what had happened the last time he had frozen up, and just like that, he snapped out of it.

He saw Marie rush to Jeod's side, tip-toeing around the various empty mugs, other drinking vessels, and even a few unchanged chamber pots lying haphazardly at the floor around the bed, all the while quickly exchanging words with Rolf. Then there was Helen, who looked between devastated and horror-stricken. "No…" she whined. "No, no, no…"

Tsubasa was not sure what he himself was supposed to do. Then again, was he really supposed to do anything? His mind started racing through the uncertainties at a furious pace. He was a stranger in someone else's house. Their issues were none of his business. If he himself was sick back in Japan, he certainly would not have expected near-strangers to drop all their plans to take care of him, an undertaking that would take many days. As far as he knew, even friends often did not do that, in the monochronic, regimented, task-oriented culture they lived in.

But as he looked at Jeod, the charitable man who had hosted them for so many months and given them an opportunity no other Japanese members of the expedition had experienced, and saw him in such a pitiful state…

Well, this was not Japan after all, was it?

As he carefully stepped deeper into the room, he heard Jeod's agitated exchange with Marie, his brain in high gear to translate everything. "No!" Jeod pleaded, then threw up a little blood. "Go away! I'm dangerous!" But Marie did not listen.

"He is right," whimpered Helen, from outside the room. "He has the—" Tsubasa could not make out the last word, but he assumed it was the name of a disease.

A smell of vomit and something else hit Tsubasa as he came closer. As he tried to identify what that was, Rolf entered the room with a clay mug of water, as well as what appeared to be Marie's Kate-bukuro, both of which he placed on one of the drawers. Then he hurriedly stepped out. "Dangerous," he said to Tsubasa. "He has the… I have... you." was the best Tsubasa could understand of what Rolf had said—he had probably missed the most important words. Then Rolf also stepped out of the room.

"They are afraid of whatever Jeod has come down with," Marie clarified over Jeod's pleading and coughing, not even looking at Tsubasa while she was talking, her gaze locked at Jeod. "Maybe you should keep your distance, Tsubasa." She sounded distracted, stressed.

Tsubasa shook his head. "I thought they did not understand germ theory," he muttered. "What changed?" Absently, Tsubasa noted the drop of temperature in the room, compared to the hallway. He was not sure if the chillness was real or a product of his own disquiet. He scrambled to recall the numerous infection control guidelines that had been created for their expedition, and mentally threw in the towel as Marie leaned in closely on the potential biohazard. Well, there was no way to salvage this now, he might as well consider himself infected with whatever pathogen, and deal with the situation on that basis. He took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. When would he wake up from this nightmare?

As Marie tried to feed Jeod the water, all the while murmuring soft words of encouragement, Tsubasa thoroughly scrutinized him. He appeared to be weak, so much that he could barely sit upright in the bed. Sweat wet his tunic, mixed with blood and probably some vomit. He seemed to be so great in pain, he did nothing to respond to Marie's attempt at communication. His face was slightly swollen, and judging by his garbled voice, so was his tongue.

Just what could he have been infected with? He had appeared fine just three days ago. Tsubasa went through the symptoms, then quickly gave up. He had little medical expertise. From Jeod's shallow breaths, Tsubasa's thoughts immediately turned to COVID-19, a disease that had naturally been on his and many other's minds this past year. But did the progression of symptoms really occur that quickly? It had only been three days since Jeod had been symptom-free. And how had the virus gotten here anyway?

As Tsubasa further examined Jeod, he noticed other irregularities. Small amounts of blood constantly dripped from his nose, which Marie tried to stem with tissue paper from her Kate-bukuro. Bruises and other red dots and marks were visible on the parts of his arms that were uncovered.

Jeod, for his part, kept pleading with them to leave, sobbing and heaving at the same time. Marie touched his forehead, and he flinched from the contact, as if in pain.

"He is burning up," she said, voice shaken. She herself looked apprehensive, in a way Tsubasa had never seen her before. Then she gaped. "His fingers," she said dumbfounded. "Look..."

Tsubasa moved his glance, and what he saw filled him with unease. The tip of a few fingers on Jeod's left hand were completely blackened.

"This is definitely not COVID-19," muttered Tsubasa, stupefied. Could it be Ebola? Jeod's symptoms seemed similar to Tsubasa's very elementary understanding of the Ebola virus. But the climate didn't seem right—hadn't the provisional epidemiological risk assessment team said something of the like, especially with the lack of industrial modes of transportation? And could Ebola really explain Jeod's blackened fingers?

Perhaps it really was an entirely new disease, which had no counterparts on earth—old earth. Then again, everything had pointed to the state of epidemiology being near-identical to preindustrial earth, which was why they were still here in the first place.

"No, of course not," said Marie, a rare desperation creeping into her voice. She took a deep breath. "What kind of diseases were common in the past? I know there have been numerous smallpox epidemics throughout our history. But this doesn't look like that… Other diseases in our history… typhoid fever?"

It did not look like typhoid fever to Tsubasa. But then again none of the historically common diseases in Japan rang a bell as he stared at Jeod.

In Japan…

This was not Japan.

This was...

In my opinion the similarities between this country and medieval Europe are not merely superficial. They exist on the most fundamental level…

Tsubasa froze.

"We need to inform our fellow expedition members," said Marie, interrupting his thoughts. "There is a chance we have become infected ourselves, and they need to know so you can receive treatment."

"You as well," said Tsubasa numbly. "I will… go to the ship—not enter it of course," he quickly added. "I know about the quarantine procedures."

Marie nodded. "Stay safe, Tsubasa," she said.

"You too." Then he left.

---

"I need to speak with Katsuo-buchou," Tsubasa informed one of the security officers at the plankings to the ship. "Tell him Marie and I might have become infected with a severe novel disease." The security officer nodded and quickly entered the ship. Tsubasa drummed his fingers. His heart rate was elevated, yet besides a jittery sensation he felt strangely calm, almost as if detached from this whole surreal situation.

A moment later, Katsuo-buchou stepped outside the ship, accompanied by someone from the medical division whom Tsubasa recognized as a general physician and professor of medicine at Kyoto University, both clad in kimonos and hantens. They stopped three meters from Tsubasa before Katsuo asked: "What are your symptoms?"

"I don't have any," answered Tsubasa. "I'm not certain I'm infected, but Marie-senpai and I have come into contact with a seriously ill person, our host Jeod-san. The man who has been hosting us," Tsubasa belatedly added.

"I see," said Katsuo.

The man beside him spoke up: "If circumstances permit, may I have a look at Jeod-san? It seems like the most efficient way of identifying what we are dealing with." Though Tsubasa was surprised by the flexible offer, he could not help but feel a certain relief as well. To have an actual medical professional come along. Perhaps...

"I… think so," began Tsubasa tentatively. "I don't think they would mind visitors at this point. If Katsuo-buchou permits?"

"Yes, but be careful," conceded Katsuo, too surprising Tsubasa with his flexibility—he had not expected them to be able to make decisions outside protocol on such a short notice, or at all.

Katsuo stepped back into the ship while saying: "Just in case, I will inform everyone on-board to be on alert for increased epidemiological risks. I will be awaiting the results of your findings." Then he was beyond Tsubasa's line of sight.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tsubasa-san," said the remaining man, who looked to be in his forties. "I'm Ueda Eisaku, professor of clinical medicine at Kyoto University and general physician with this expedition. I'm afraid we can't shake hands because of quarantine procedures." He bowed. "Now, would you take me to Jeod-san?"

And they started a brisk walk back to Jeod's house.

"Could you tell me a bit about his symptoms?" asked Ueda, passing by the raised portcullis into the busy cobblestone streets of Teerm. He furrowed his brows at the faecal aromas.

Though Tsubasa wanted to get rid of the images, he complied. "He's… coughing blood. There are red marks and bruises on his skin. He seemed very sensitive to touching. He has a fever. And very weak in general. And… the tip of a few of his fingers are blackened."

Ueda appeared thoughtful. "Did these symptoms come about suddenly?"

"Three days ago, none of the symptoms were present."

Ueda stopped dead in his tracks. "I'm sorry," he said. "I need to get back to the ship to fetch a few things. I will be right back."

"Antibiotics?" Tsubasa asked quietly, as Ueda made to leave.

Ueda stopped momentarily. "Yes," he said, before leaving.

As Tsubasa waited for Ueda to return, he thought he heard the sound of someone vomiting. Turning around, he saw a ragged woman throwing up blood in an alley between buildings.

---

"I've never been inside a private residence in this city," Ueda murmured as they stood beside Jeod's house. Tsubasa hesitated at the unlocked door into the house. Doubt was increasingly starting to pile up within him. He had not actually been given permission by the occupying household to invite in another stranger. Even given the situation, what he was doing was wrong…

But for every passing moment, Jeod was inching closer to death—if Tsubasa's suspicions were correct. And the anguished look on Marie-senpai's face that he had never seen before...

Cursing himself inwardly, he opened the door. He would just have to notify Rolf or—the thought gave him anxiety—Helen and hope they would retroactively accept Ueda-sensei's unbidden presence.

As they walked into the hallway, the professor looked around with wide eyes, seeming fascinated by the interior of stone walls and tapestries, though he did not dwell on it. Instead he turned to Tsubasa. "Where is—"

"Who is that?" came the choked voice of Helen. She appeared in the hallway, her eyes red and puffed.

"Is…" Tsubasa struggled to find the right word in their language.

"A healer," Marie helped to fill in. With a surprised expression, she came down the stairs to greet Ueda.

Helen, meanwhile, stared at them in disbelief, before laughing maniacally. Shaking her head, she said, "It is hopeless. Jeod has the—" Tsubasa did not know the meaning of her last word, though he had heard it numerous times today.

I suppose this is the best cue we will get that Ueda-sensei is indeed welcome inside, mused Tsubasa.

As Helen's laughter slowly turned into sobs, Tsubasa and a bemused Ueda followed Marie upstairs. The two did their best to keep their distance from Ueda.

"He's deteriorating," informed Marie, seeming to struggle to keep her voice neutral. Turning around, she continued: "Ueda-san, I know this is too much to ask, but is there perhaps something you could do?"

Ueda sighed. "I will try to see what I can do, but don't spread this around. Because we need to conserve our medical supplies, we can't offer medical treatment to non-Japanese on a universal basis. This is an exception, not a general procedure."

Some tension in Marie's face seemed to evaporate. "Thank you so much, Ueda-san." She gave a light bow.

They entered the room to find Jeod, who appeared to be in a delirious state, though no longer covered by the bloodied blankets, only a somewhat bloodied tunic and hose. Marie immediately went to his side. "We have… healer with us," she told him soothingly. Jeod moaned incoherently.

"Good that you already opened the windows," Ueda remarked. "This place should be properly ventilated, as a precaution. Although it is fairly cold..." As he stepped forward somewhat to have a better look, bewilderment colored his face. He hesitated, before asking: "Could you take off his shirt?"

After asking for Jeod's permission, and not receiving much in terms of a yes or no response, Marie went to work. It was an arduous process, as Jeod seemed extremely sensitive to any touch. "No, no!" he slurred, and struggled weakly. "I'm sorry Helen. Please…"

Tsubasa almost wanted to bury his face in his hands. This was all so wrong—a stranger entering someone else's home without permission and effectively forcing the homeowner to undress. What would Jeod think about all this later?

If there was a "later" for him, that is.

Finally Marie was done, and Ueda observed Jeod from a two meter distance. His expression turned grim. "No lymph nodes," he noted. "Bleeding under the skin. Mucous bleeding. Gangrene. Septicemic? But how…"

"What is wrong with him?" Marie asked, while feeding Jeod some more water.

"I would need some samples to give him a medical diagnosis," replied Ueda. "But pressed for time, I will make a clinical diagnosis. We will act under the assumption that he is suffering from the septicemic plague."

Tsubasa felt something turn cold inside him. "Septicemic?" he asked. "Is that not the common plague?"

Ueda shook his head. "The division between the three forms of plague is somewhat contrived, and in truth the three forms cannot be cleanly separated from each other. But simplistically speaking, septicemic plague is not the common bubonic plague, where the bacteria enter the lymphatic system. Instead we are talking about bloodstream infection, which is more virulent. Left untreated, the infection fatality rate is more than ninety-five percent."

"Oh, no," breathed Marie. "What can we do?"

"Thanks to Tsubasa-san, I already strongly suspected which disease we were dealing with," answered Ueda. "I already brought with me all the antibiotics we have for this disease," he continued, while unpacking his bag on top of a drawer. Pointing to a few envelopes filled with what were presumably medical pills, he instructed, "You yourselves will take those regularly for the coming weeks, in order to prevent incubation." He glanced at Jeod. "Other than antibiotics, I'm afraid you can give him nothing more than palliative and supportive care. His odds…" Ueda frowned. "Without ICU-treatment, perhaps forty percent. Maybe lower."

Ueda pulled out a syringe from his bag. "Since we can't do IV-therapy, and oral administration is out of the question at the moment, this is the next best option for administering streptomycin. While we have no lab confirmation that we are really dealing with the plague, prompt treatment starts as soon as a case is suspected." He dropped the syringe on the floor. "I apologize, but one of you will have to pick it up and do it. I need to minimize contagion risk."

Marie and Tsubasa both stared at the syringe.

"It's really simple, you only need to follow my instructions," Ueda assured them.

Marie picked up the syringe, whispering inaudibly to herself. After listening to Ueda give a quick rundown on the techniques for intramuscular administration, she took a deep breath and turned around to face Jeod's slumped form. The man seemed barely aware of his surroundings, the pain visible all over his body. With bated breaths, Tsubasa observed as Marie slowly made her way over to Jeod. The passing seconds felt like minutes. "Jeod," she said gently, "I'm sorry, this is going to… I…" As usual, the words spoken in the local language eluded Tsubasa.

Crouching by the side of his bed, she gingerly took Jeod's right arm, and he flinched slightly, and then she slowly pressed the needle closer and closer until it—

Jeod jerked violently with a pained howl, and his arm smacked Marie across the face. She fell backwards onto the floor with a cry, the syringe dropping beside her.

She blinked dazedly for a couple of seconds, then she quickly grabbed the syringe and got back on her knees. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Tsubasa heard her say comfortingly to Jeod, missing a few words as always. Jeod's face was twisted in pain and he was still weakly flailing his limbs around, while making uncharacteristic sounds.

"Are you okay, Marie-san?" asked Ueda.

"It's nothing, Ueda-san," she said curtly in Japanese, then crawled back to Jeod's bedside.

Tsubasa, who until then had not moved one step, suddenly stepped forward. "I will restrain him while you administer," he said simply.

Marie's eyes widened in surprise. "...Okay," she said, "but please be careful. He's very sensitive to pain at the moment."

Tsubasa nodded. Crouching by the same side of the bed as Marie, he slowly gripped Jeod's arms, trying not to be too squeamish at the blood. The man even smelled sick. Tsubasa held his limbs in place, doing his best to ignore the man's whimpers and attempts at flailing. He felt like he was committing a serious transgression and tried to ignore the deep sense of shame, and then he tried pushing all thoughts away while only focusing on the motor activities of his task. As he did that, Marie whispered reassuringly to Jeod while she pierced his skin with the needle. Jeod winced, and Tsubasa could barely restrain the jerks of his arms.

Then it was done.

Tsubasa let out the breath he had not been aware he was holding, loosening his grip on Jeod as he calmed down, while Marie continued murmuring who knows what to the man.

Right on cue, the half-closed door to the room opened fully, and in stepped a puffy-eyed Helen carrying a wooden bowl and some kind of metal blade. She held out the objects to Ueda, who in turn blinked dumbfounded. "I…" he murmured in Japanese. Thankfully, he was rescued by Marie who promptly went on to inquire about the purposes of the objects, standing by the bedside while doing so.

Helen's face took on an expression of disbelief, which quickly turned to disdain. "Is. He. Not. A. Healer?" Helen pointed to Ueda while slowly spelling out each word, as if speaking to addle-brained children. Though Tsubasa was loath to admit, it was rather helpful with his poor listening comprehension.

Instead of translating that to Ueda, Marie only apologetically repeated her inquiries. Helen snorted at Ueda before answering: "You. Cut. Him—Jeod. To… Blood." Despite her once again speaking to them as if they were dull-witted children, Tsubasa missed the second last word. "Understand, healer?" she asked Ueda mockingly.

Marie translated the best she could while Helen scoffed.

"Drain the blood?" said Ueda. He sighed. "I'm afraid bloodletting is not part of my medical field. Please convey my regrets at not conforming to her expectations."

Marie seemed hesitant to do just that. "I'm sorry, he is a... different healer," she finished lamely.

"...barbarians!" Tsubasa heard her exclaim the last word in apparent frustration, before she dropped the bloodletting tools on the floor with a thud—causing Tsubasa to flinch—and turned on her heels (though she was wearing poulaines). He thought he heard a sob escape her.

All was quiet for a while save Jeod's pained whimpering. Then, Ueda finally broke the tense silence: "Well, I best wrap up business here as soon as possible. I need to report back to the ship, and lab-confirm that we are actually dealing with Y. pestis, and not Ebola or something else."

"Ebola?" breathed Marie.

Eisaku shook his head. "I'm near certain this is not Ebola, but I will get back to you immediately if the antigen results are positive. If this is Ebola, we are in big trouble."

He then gave them further instructions on the intramuscular injections they were to administer to Jeod regularly, as well as some basics on palliative care and supportive care. "Remember to avoid interacting with people, especially Japanese, for the specified time period. Oh, and lastly, I'll need a blood sample from Jeod-san, to confirm that he is actually infected with Y. pestis."

As he talked, Jeod heaved up some blood out of his mouth while Marie did her best to tend to him.

---

Ueda Eisaku hurried back to the red seal ship, the blood specimen secured with a plier-like holding device, held by leather-gloved hands on the other end, in order to avoid skin exposure. It was now well into the afternoon, he observed, and the sun was about to set.

His visit to Jeod's residence had taken up quite some time, though not necessarily more than he had expected. The medical case had been somewhat troubling, and moreover, he found himself wondering about the legalities of his actions. He had, after all, entered into a private residence to conduct a healthcare intervention on someone without their informed consent (Marie had admitted that she herself was not sure if Jeod had given it). The question was whether it could constitute a case of implied consent, stretching the definition. As if that was not confounding enough, Teerm's legislation on medical consent were likely not informed by WHO or other international guidelines, introducing even more ambiguities.

It was something he would have to worry about later though, if he was not overthinking things. For now, he would focus on getting back to the ship. His sense of direction was pretty strong, but this part of the city he was somewhat unfamiliar with, so he would have to pay attention to his surroundings to navigate back. Looking around himself as he traversed a curve-shaped street and rows of timber-framed houses, he could not help but notice that man at the corner vomiting something red…

"Hey Eisaku!" came the familiar voice of Kiyoshi, his friend and colleague and probably the foremost expert on immunology in their expedition.

"Hello, Kiyoshi," responded Eisaku as he turned to lock his eyes on him. Kiyoshi seemed somewhat worn-out, and he had a troubled expression on his face. Before Eisaku had the chance to say anything more, Kiyoshi stated: "Today, several critically ill patients arrived at the almhouse where I volunteer. I strongly suspect they are all positive cases of the pneumonic and septicemic plagues."

Eisaku quickly processed what Kiyoshi had said, before nodding. There was no doubt about it anymore. If someone of Kiyoshi's calibre would suspect the plague with such a high level of certainty, laboratory-confirmation was all but a formality.

"Is it lab-confirmed?" asked Eisaku anyway.

"Not yet." Kiyoshi shook his head. "I have a few specimens." He showed his specimen holding device.

"So do I," said Eisaku, mirroring him.

An austere expression swept across Kiyoshi's face. "We need to quickly report back," he said, and started walking briskly.

---

"Are you absolutely certain?" asked Katsuo, his voice grave.

"I'm highly certain," replied Kiyoshi, "but you should lab-confirm to be on the safe side." Several members of the medical division approached with their own holding devices, which they used to secure the specimens lying on the stony surface of the docks, to be brought to the ship. To further err on the safe side, their hands were covered in thick leather gloves, but they had little else for personal protective equipment.

"In that case," began Katsuo, "stay out here while we bring you some antibiotics. After that, self-isolate as required somewhere in the city… Actually, do reconvene back here tomorrow at noon. It should be fine with the infection control protocols."

"If I may, could you also bring some other supplies from the ship? I promised Marie-san and Tsubasa-san some additional items."

"Very well."

After outlining the specifics of the request and agreeing to it, Katsuo turned around as he quickly walked back to the ship.

Once aboard the ship, he quickly issued the instructions to have the relevant items delivered to the two members outside, while reminding them to follow the infection control procedures. He then sat down in his chair around the conference table, engaged in discussions with other members of the medical division—some of whom had just arrived—and listened to their recent accounts while waiting for the results of the laboratory tests that were being conducted in a separate ship quarter. As he understood it, the methods used were rather primitive compared to a state of the art medical laboratory, but that was the story of their expedition.

About an hour later, the results were in. Not wasting anymore time, he garnered everyone's attention aboard the ship except the security officers outside, before issuing the following: "As of today, several cases of the plague, caused by the Yersinia pestis pathogen, have been confirmed in the city of Teerm through laboratory tests. Other members of the medical division have also reported a recent uptick in the burden of disease in the city, of symptoms consistent with the plague, using non-systematic observation methods. While we cannot as of yet be certain of the epidemiological situation, following the precautionary principle we cannot rule out the risk of a plague outbreak in the city based on the circumstantial evidence. I therefore issue the suggestion that you not leave the ship for an indefinite period. This suggestion is effective as of today, 17:00 Japan Standard Time. Compliance is voluntary, but those who leave will not be allowed to re-embark for the duration of the suggestion. They will be offered antibiotics, as will every other Japanese expedition member currently debarked."

"How about those who are currently outside the ship?" someone asked. "Only about half are here—aboard."

Katsuo closed his eyes. "Because of infection risks—"

"You cannot mean that!" someone protested. "We cannot turn our backs on fellow Japanese… If we don't look out for each other, who will?" Many affirmations were heard. "What is more important to you, Katsuo-buchou, protocol or human lives?"

"Also," someone from the medical division uttered, "it's not as if the plague is a very contagious disease. With the right infection control measures, it is easily contained. This is not COVID-19. There won't be another Diamond Princess."

If it is not very contagious, then how did it spread like wildfire across Europe, faster than perhaps any other disease in the pre-industrial era? Katsuo dwelled. But if really something as deadly as the plague was spreading uncontrollably through the city, could he abandon all fellow Japanese people outside the ship in their greatest time of need?

Opening his eyes, he said monotonously: "Those in favor of allowing unrestricted access to debarked Japanese expedition members, please raise your hands."

At least seventy percent of those present did so.

Katsuo nodded wearily. "Then so be it."

---

Marie practically bolted for the door as the first knocks were heard. Opening it, she found Ueda standing in the now dark outdoors, carrying one large burlap sack over his back.

"Thank you so much!" Marie expressing, bowing. "I promise I will repay you once we're back in Japan!" She took the sack from Ueda's arms, briefly turning her face to Tsubasa, "Now we can finally do something about the cold, Tsubasa-kun!"

Ueda shook his head. "There is no need for that, Marie-san. That said, if it is not too much, do inform any Japanese people you encounter that this city is likely under a plague epidemic, and that they should return to the harbor where our ship is docked for antibiotics and more information, and to follow the infection control protocols according to the high-risk scenario."

Marie's eyes widened. "Plague epidemic?" she mouthed. In the background, Tsubasa shrugged despondently.

"This is our working assumption, just to be on the safe side," Ueda answered. "At any rate, we need to spread the word around."

"I assume that we have to do it manually, walking around aimlessly because we have no way of locating them either?" voiced Tsubasa, surprising himself with his wordiness.

Ueda gave a sigh. "That's the only way to do it, I'm afraid," he said.

"Seems we are really taking this pre-industrial reenactment to the next level, eh?" The words flowed from his mouth before he could stop himself. Something about today had really dampened his inhibitions.

Ueda's mouth twitched. "I plan to reenact this for the rest of today," he said good-naturedly. "I'll keep a two meter distance, of course," he added. "I recommend you do the same."

"I will see if I can help out tomorrow," Marie replied. "It depends on how well Jeod is."

"I'll be free tomorrow," offered Tsubasa.

Ueda nodded. "All right. Now I am to semi-quarantine in some kind of inn not too far from here. Along with doctor Oshira Kiyoshi. Usually quarantining in groups is rather counterproductive, but since we are doing it for the rest…" he trailed off.

"Be careful," cautioned Marie. "The streets are dangerous after dark, especially for us."

"I will. I wish you the best of luck. Later, Marie-san, Tsubasa-san." He bowed as they responded, then left.

"Plague epidemic?" pronounced Marie, breaking the silence. "Isn't that… something that killed millions in Europe?"

"More than a third of their population," Tsubasa said. "In the 13th… or 14th century—I'm not sure. Westerners have long claimed that the disease spread from China, but recent research basically invalidates this view, even to them. More likely it originated—"

"A third of the population here will die?!" Marie exclaimed. She looked horrified, nothing like her usual self.

Tsubasa did not say anything. After an uneasy silence, Marie said, "We should get back to Jeod, Tsubasa-kun." She sounded calm, almost too calm. It unnerved Tsubasa even more than loud exclamations.

"Yes, Marie-senpai," he answered, sounding neutral as the pit in his stomach grew at the thought of seeing Jeod once again.

As they started walking, Tsubasa saw Marie shiver behind the burlap sack. Even though they were indoors, it was not that much warmer than the temperature outside. Rolf had apparently vacated the house since afternoon, and there had been no one else to maintain the fires. Even before he had left, the contents in the main fireplace downstairs had been nothing but a smoldering pit, and the blazing flames that were usual for this time of the day were nonexistent. His absence also meant none of them had had supper, even though it was slightly past dinnertime.

A rumbling thunder was heard in the distance. It seemed a thunderstorm would form after all.

Because it was starting to get dark, they fumbled slightly with the stairs, especially Marie who was carrying the sack between her arms. Having lived in a non-electrified house for four months, Tsubasa had come to view indoor lighting in an entirely new... light.

"Do you think that word Helen constantly used referred to the plague?" Tsubasa tried to sound nonchalant as they moved up the last steps of the stairs. He had already seen Jeod in his debilitated state several times today, so there was no reason for him to feel such trepidation as they approached closer. And yet...

"I think so," answered Marie. "Although they might not understand the disease the same way we do, meaning the translation isn't one hundred percent."

As they approached Jeod's room, they started hearing sounds of scraping rocks. It was a rhythmic sound, repeating itself several times each second.

Marie looked at Tsubasa uncertainly. "What do you think that is...?" she trailed off, gesturing to the room with a jerk of her head.

Tsubasa had a pretty good clue as he approached the door and opened it to step inside.

Jeod was sitting in his bed, his condition not easy to make out in the growing dark. The bloodied blankets had been replaced, and a rough wooden bucket had been placed on the bedside table for him to regurgitate into. The room had also been tidied up somewhat of the chaotic clutter, the chamber pots replaced.

Forcing himself to look away from Jeod, he swept his gaze to where the scraping sounds were coming from. They found Helen, who was kneeling by the fireplace. Stepping inside, Tsubasa noted that it was even colder than it had been this afternoon, despite the fact that the window had been closed.

As Marie checked up on Jeod, Tsubasa gingerly approached the kneeling Helen. The woman always set him on edge. She was striking a somewhat loop-shaped piece of metal against some kind of rock, above the firewood.

It occurred to Tsubasa that he had never once seen them attempt to start a fire. Usually, the fires in the fireplaces were always kept alive, and could be transferred from one to the other should the need arise. Apparently, this was not the case anymore.

Helen kept striking the two objects, yet it seemed to produce no results. Her strikes became more frantic, heavier, clumsier. Her shoulders were quivering. A flash of radiance entered through the window, briefly illuminating the entire room, followed by a loud rumble. A light tapping could also be heard, the start of a downpouring.

A wail escaped Helen. "Please, just start." Her voice cracked.

Tsubasa had seen enough. He immediately strode over to the sack, which Marie had placed on the floor by the door, and rummaged through it until he found the square package.

He stopped a few meters from Helen, hesitating. His heart was beating in anticipation. How was he supposed to get her attention? The idea seemed almost preposterous; he had always aimed to do the opposite. He took a tentative step, feeling the floorboard creaking under his feet. Drumming his fingers against his legs, he steeled for the inevitable, gathering his resolve. For a fleeting moment his gaze swept toward Marie, where she was by the canopy bed, holding a cup of water to Jeod's lips.

Then he took the final steps toward the fireplace, and abruptly crouched beside Helen, not giving her any time to protest, or himself second thoughts. Without a word, he shuffled open the package and picked up a matchstick. Do not think, he thought forcefully.

Helen's eyes widened at his presence. "Tsubasa?" she murmured, for once not sounding like he was a vagrant. "I'm sorry," she said, shocking Tsubasa. "The fires are out, I—I can't start a new one." She sniffled.

Tsubasa blinked. Was he dreaming? Not only was she treating him like he was not a scoundrel, he had understood basically every word she had said.

As he heard the returned sounds of scraping, Tsubasa took a breath and uttered before he could regret it: "No."

Helen stopped, looking at him questioningly. Tsubasa's heart pounded as he held the matchstick in the air. There was no going back now.

He scratched the match along the edge of the package, and suddenly a small flame ignited at the tip, casting distorted shadows on their faces.

He heard Helen gasp as he held the matchstick to the dry barks of the firewood. Almost instantly, a small smoulder formed. He continued holding the burning match to various points of the firewood, creating additional smoulders. Once that was done, he extinguished the match with a hand gesture.

Helen stared at him, completely gobsmacked. "How…?" she breathed.

Tsubasa shrugged uncomfortably, avoiding her intent gaze. He supposed he had dug his own grave. "I…" he said lamely.

He looked to the matchstick package, fumbling for the first words he could think of. "I... fire in other room," he said hastily, rising to his feet and striding out of the room before Helen could respond. He gave an inward sigh of relief as he went down the stairs.

Starting the fire at the main fireplace downstairs took longer than he had expected, as he had to replace the used up firewood for fresh ones, and it took time to locate everything. He only hoped he had not created a fire hazard.

Upon arriving back in Jeod's (now slightly warmer) room he found Helen holding down Jeod's arms while Marie was giving him yet another injection. It had to be the third one for today.

"How did you manage to convince her to help you administer the medication?" Tsubasa could not help asking once they were done. He refrained from commenting that plastic syringes were not a pre-industrial invention. Helen was staring at it with obvious curiosity for a moment, though her attention quickly went back to Jeod. She looked slightly less miserable than last he had seen her. Perhaps the assurance that she would not freeze to death after all had assuaged her somewhat.

"I really don't know," admitted Marie. "I just asked her for assistance, and she didn't seem to mind. I told her the needle was going to help Jeod, but I'm not sure she believed me. Oh, and we'll have to convince her to take antibiotics as well though—she's been too close to Jeod."

Tsubasa looked at the sitting form of Jeod as he slowly approached. Apart from the growing blaze of the fireplace, a few candles had been lit, and Tsubasa could now examine him more clearly in the somewhat brighter conditions. The man looked, if not better, then at least unchanged. Given how quickly the disease had progressed earlier, Tsubasa hoped this could be taken as a positive sign. He had not thrown up for a while, though he still frequently bled from his nose. Marie was wiping some of that blood off his face.

He will be fine, Tsubasa convinced himself, and willed his uneasy feelings to ease. He will be fine...

As he continued to look at Jeod, the man's eyes suddenly cleared. His dilated pupils gained focus as they fell on him, and Marie, and Helen. He inhaled sharply, his pain-contorted face partly displaced by horror.

"Jeod?" Helen asked carefully, as the man's breathing quickened. "Please dear, relax—"

"The miasma!" Jeod screeched, his voice coarse and slurred from his swollen tongue. His gaze flew wildly between the three of them. "The sweet miasma! It is here! In me! Get away! Get away!"

Helen recoiled at his words, an alarmed expression overcoming her face. She quickly backpedaled from Jeod. "Step back!" she ejaculated to the other two.

When neither Tsubasa or Marie immediately reacted even as Jeod continued to sputter, she careened toward them and forcefully grabbed their arms. Tsubasa froze, his mind going blank.

As Helen jerked them away from Jeod's bedside, Tsubasa almost fell forward by the momentum, only righting himself at the last moment. Now several meters away from Jeod's bedside, she released their arms.

"Helen," Marie said carefully, "it is not dangerous—" but Helen did not seem to listen, as her attention was instead drawn to Jeod, who was speaking words too quickly for Tsubasa to make out: "...miasma...must…the chamber pots…"

"I will," said Helen tersely before turning to the two Japanese individuals. "Don't get close to Jeod." Then she quickly left the room.

"I'm sorry!" Jeod spilled out, eyes darting between the two.

"Is not your fault, Jeod," Marie was quick to reassure.

But Jeod shook his head, the panicked look not leaving his face. "You can't let the sweet miasma get you!" he enounced. "The sweet smell, the rats!"

Then Helen burst into the room, carrying two earthenware chamber pots. She placed them before the two and crouched. She barked something at the two that Tsubasa did not catch, then beckoned for them to come closer. A putrid odor filled the air.

"Please, Marie, Tsubasa!" Jeod begged, an intense look on his face, as a fresh stream of blood flooded down his nose. "You can't let the miasma take you!"

Marie took hold of Tsubasa's arm, lightly tugging toward the floor. The two crouched on the floor, now on level with Helen.

An overwhelming stench of feces filled his nose, with a lighter secondary stench of urine. Tsubasa cringed at the odors, and he could hear Marie choke. One of the pots probably contained his very own feces, and he wished he could melt into the floor.

"Smell it!" implored Jeod as Helen breathed in the smells greedily and disgustedly.

Tsubasa stared at the chamber pots, his mind whirling. His gaze turned to Marie. She seemed at a complete loss as to what to do. Her body was trembling.

"You must breathe—"

"No," breathed Tsubasa, turning toward Jeod. "We do not!" he said, louder.

Jeod stopped, his red face creased in pain and distress. "Please," he pleaded. "Before the sweet miasma gets you."

Tsubasa shook his head. He stood up, and pulled Marie by her arm. Numbly, she stood as well.

He could almost hear the sound of his own heartbeats. "We are okay. Is not sick."

Jeod clenched his eyes shut. "You don't understand," he rasped, seeming to opt for simple words, perhaps for their sake. "The illness is called the plague." His voice grew fainter, and fatigue seemed to roll over him. "I know you haven't… heard of it... in Nihon. But everyone who gets it… dies." He sagged into the bed frame. In the background, Helen sniffled.

"Will not," said Tsubasa. "You sleep."

"Don't worry for us," assured Marie, seeming to have recovered from her earlier stupefaction. "Just rest, Jeod." Jeod sighed in resignation, too exhausted to pursue the matter further. His eyes drooped.

Tsubasa turned his attention to the sole person kneeling by the chamber pots. "Bad smell," Tsubasa said cautiously to Helen, pointing at the chamber pots. "Is bad. For you." He shook his head to emphasize his point. Truthfully, he did not actually think the smell was bad for her beyond the unpleasantness, but he just wanted her to stop smelling his feces.

And she did. Quickly rising to her feet, she turned her back to the smells of the chamber pots, seeming not to miss it. Tsubasa was so relieved that he did not even care to question why she had believed his words so easily. Her eyes were once again tear-filled, and she said something that Tsubasa did not catch. He only shrugged, looking away. He had talked far too much today, and the drain on his energy from all the social interactions was becoming apparent. Besides, he was too ashamed by what had just transpired.

Now that things had calmed down, he felt the growing weariness take over, and along with his exhaustion it became harder to contain the tide of emotions; the events of the day were finally taking its mental toll. It did not help being in this room, where he was surrounded by other people. Jeod's ailing appearance still unsettled him to the core. And these people had seen and smelled his feces. The scene started playing in his head, and he could not stop it. The looks of disgust. Because of him. Of something he had never wanted to show. Nausea built in his stomach. He had to escape from here.

He pithily mentioned his intention to retire for the night without so much as glancing up from the floor, and then he excused himself from the room. He was sure Marie and Helen would have things under control for now, and Jeod was not due for his next antibiotic administration until tomorrow morning. No, they would not need him.

Vaguely, he heard Marie protesting that he had not yet had dinner, and he found himself questioning her sanity.

After washing his hands and face, he crept into the featherbed. He refused to relieve himself even though he needed to. He could not bring himself to even look at the chamber pots. He buried his face into the pillow, as if that would somehow hide him from the rest of the world. Just what had Jeod been thinking? Was that the miasma theory? It made no sense. Perhaps the plague had impaired Jeod's ability to think clearly. But Jeod would be fine.

It was quiet, Tsubasa thought, except for the soft tapping of the rain, and the occasional peal of thunder. Except…

Tsubasa frowned. Was he imagining things? Straining his ears, he attentively listened to the outside sounds.

Beneath the pattering of the rain, something long and drawn out echoed in the distance. A cry, a scream of pure suffering and agony. It never faded.

But the direction of the scream seemed to shift. It was now stronger to the south, although it never fully abated from the original wes—

Because it was not one scream, Tsubasa realized with a chill.

The screams went on and on, not just from the south and the west, but also from the north and the east. They sounded deathly, like the tortured cries of someone in their last hours of suffering.

Like a mass for the dead, sung by the dying.

---

Eisaku held the lantern before them as he regarded with certain interest the barely visible timber-framed structure. It was a house without windows—like so many others in this city—and instead shutters of coarse wood filled the walls. A shield-shaped sign hung from the end of wooden beams affixed to the building, displaying the name of the inn in a language he did not know. Dark as it was, it was impossible to make out the runic-looking letters in any case.

Doctor Kiyoshi, who was standing beside him, moved forward to open the door for both of them. Leather gloves covered his hands.

As they entered the inn, the first impression that struck Eisaku of the inside was how dark it was. Of course, no lamps were present—all lighting was provided by candles and a smoldering fireplace, which altogether produced less light than a single 100-watt light bulb, he thought. Eisaku had wanted to visually scan for possible plague infections, but in such scotopic conditions... Glancing around himself he barely made out tables and chairs occupied by about a dozen people, and some antique decors he could not name. At the far end of the room, a lone man sat behind a long table—the innkeeper?

"Looks like a Dragon's Dogma tavern," mumbled Kiyoshi beside him as they stepped deeper into the room, raindrops dripping from their hantens. An unpleasant Dragon's Dogma tavern perhaps, with sanitary standards below most low-income Earth countries. While it was a bit too dark to appreciate hygienic conditions, smells of urine, mold and mildew mixed with smoke, spoilage, sewer and other rank odors belied the state of things. The people here might look like Westerners, but there were few similarities beyond the phenotypic features.

They approached the long table—a counter, Eisaku realized—where Kiyoshi greeted the putative innkeeper. Kiyoshi had said he was far from proficient in the local language—no Japanese person was believed to have advanced beyond JLPT N4 level equivalents in terms of proficiency—but he was at least able to get by in these situations. Eisaku himself did not understand a word of what went between Kiyoshi and the other man. Up close, the inn staff looked filthy in the low light, but Eisaku supposed that was a common occurrence around here.

Communication went by slowly, and it was apparent the staff was speaking slowly and enunciating words clearly for their benefit, as well as repeating and rephrasing and gesticulating, and his rancid breath started to drift over to him. Just as Eisaku was starting to wonder if something had gone amiss, the inn staff gathered some parchment and quill and drew a number of vertical lines—tally marks?—and Kiyoshi produced a few silver coins from his Kate-bukuro in return, which the staff took eagerly. The staff called for another staff—a maid it seemed?—while Kiyoshi led Eisaku to an empty table. "It will be a while before our room is ready," Kiyoshi explained over the cackles and chatters of the other guests. "I believe the front desk clerk said that lately there have been more guests than usual. Something about..." He frowned. "Outside dangers? I'm not sure what he said."

Eisaku nodded along. "I've heard from some expedition members keeping track of local news, and they say there are news about 'minotaur attacks' in the surrounding lands." They sat down at the empty table, more than two meters from the nearest guests, never taking off their gloves. He did not worry much about the plague what with their supplies of antibiotics, but one never knew what other contagions might be lurking at the community level. Although with such poor ventilation and sanitation, it seemed futile, nevermind the protocols.

"Hmm… it was hard to distinguish myths from facts in past Japan, due to the way information was produced and spread before the age of mass communication and centralization of news around authoritative news institutions. With oral retellings and no fact checking… well."

"Not to mention the time lag caused by the slow transmission of information," agreed Eisaku.

"Certainly. By the way, they will probably be serving us some refreshments while we wait. Just know that any drinks here are served hot, including beer. Cold liquids are seen as unhealthy, from what I have gathered. Well, at least it should be free of charge."

"On that note, I understand that the exchange rate between their currency and our silver coins is 1:1?" Eisaku asked, trying to ignore the stares they were receiving from some people in the room. Wafts of passive smoke drifted over them as other guests around them sipped on their pipes. It seemed that the excesses of tobacco culture were perhaps even more pronounced here than in Japan, if indeed it was tobacco they were smoking—he recalled it had not existed in Eurasia before trade routes had been established to the Americas in the 16th century.

"Yes, that's been the nominal exchange rate, although we suspect that our coins are somewhat undervalued, and they seem to be well aware of that as well." Kiyoshi chuckled. "But we should be grateful that they are accepting foreign currency in the first place, even if at one-sided rates. Imagine paying in Japan with anything other than the yen."

Eisaku was about to respond when a man sitting at a table before him shouted in their direction, blatantly pointing at them. Catching their gazes as Kiyoshi turned around, the man spat at them and continued to yell what Eisaku guessed were unfriendly words. Another man beside him seemed to exclaim in agreement, their faces barely visible in the candle light.

"Best ignore them, they don't like us Japanese," advised Kiyoshi.

Maybe they aren't so different from Westerners after all, Eisaku mulled.

The jeering quieted down a little as a server dressed in some kind of gown came to their table, carrying two dark wooden mugs of what Eisaku guessed was beer. Not knowing how to express his thankfulness in words, he gave a slight bow of his head as he tried to take his mug, but the server placed it directly on the table. In fact, she seemed to be eager to be away from there as promptly as possible.

Eisaku tested his mug, shaking his head. "Even in Mainland China the beer isn't hot." He tried to appear unbothered by the continued streams of abuse from other guests.

Kiyoshi sighed. "If only temperature was the sole issue."

Eisaku understood as he sipped the beer, and was presented with a sweet, uncarbonated maltiness, and various undetermined spices and additives giving it earthy and other flavors—the blended-approach taste profile reminded him unfavorably of Chinese herbal tea. The initial sip was accompanied by a slightly acid aftertaste. He was at odds whether the beverage tasted good or not, but it was not beer.

"Well, how do you like it?" probed Kiyoshi.

"...it is always interesting to experience new cultures and cuisines," Eisaku offered diplomatically.

Kiyoshi smirked. "Your expression does not seem to agree with you, Eisaku-san. Well, we shall have plenty of opportunities to sample their cuisine during our fourteen-day stay!"

"Hopefully their food is better than their beer." Just then, the door to the outside opened, and a group of three shuffled inside—it was hard to make out much more in the dark. Perhaps one of them was a minor. The tallest one among them—a male judging from the silhouette—seemed to stagger rather than walk, and the other smaller adult had an arm wrapped around him, seeming to steady him. Eisaku watched on furtively as they approached the counter, somewhat curious as to how the locals went about checking into an accommodation, or ordering food and drinks. Everything about this place, this city, was an exotic novelty after all.

But then the male was overcome by racking coughs and slumped to his knees, despite the other figure trying to support his weight. The other person spoke and pleaded and sobbed with the man, trying in vain to pull him back onto his feet, and emanating an almost palpable sense of desperation as no progress was made. Eisaku could not see much of the child behind them, but it looked like he or she was crying.

A wave of silence slowly spread across the occupants of the room as they took note of the scene. Eisaku exchanged a glance with Kiyoshi. Should we…?

A server made her way over to the distraught trio, as did a couple other guests. They seemed to be inquiring, peering, trying to make sense of the predicament. Words and dialogues of unknown meaning were exchanged. The wet coughing continued, and more sobbing followed.

Eisaku and Kiyoshi hesitantly vacated their seats. "It's too dark to assess his medical complications," remarked Eisaku. "And with the control protocols, we can't get too close…"

Kiyoshi nodded. "There is certainly the risk that this is a novel pathogen never before observed on Earth, but…" He took another look at the coughing man, who seemed to be dripping some dark liquid from his mouth. "It could be another case of the plague—maybe pneumonic. Or a non-communicable condition. Then again, it's not uncommon for people to collapse sporadically here—public health is poor after all." He hmmed. "We could investigate cautiously. Actually, it's better if only one of us does it, to limit the pool of suspected cases."

"Not really," said Eisaku. "We'll still be sharing a room anyway and… I want to have a look," he admitted. The growing tumult of terrified voices around them only fueled his curiosity. And even though he was off-duty, he still felt compelled by his medical oaths to at least find out if there was something he could do, and Kiyoshi must have felt similarly—that man had a strong sense of ethics. Eisaku retrieved the oil lamp from beside his seat. "It's not much, but some light is better than none," he reasoned.

They moved closer to the incident scene, where a semi-chaotic spectacle had now developed. A few people shouted over each other, others were running; some up the stairs at the corner, a couple out the door into the rain, and the front desk clerk had left the counter and was staring at the source of the commotion from some five meters away, though Eisaku could not make out his expression in the dim light. A little away from him, Kiyoshi was observing the coughing man intently.

Up closer, and with better lighting, Eisaku saw the coughing man who had now slumped further toward the floor. Dark liquid trickled from his orifice to the floor—blood. The panicking figure next to him appeared to be female—honestly, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, even in broad daylight—and the other one standing behind dejectedly was clearly minor. Someone could describe their clothes as rags, and it wouldn't be too far off the mark. Even from this distance he caught a whiff of their odor; they seemed to smell worse than average, if that was even possible. All three of them were barefoot.

Around them people were shouting and gesticulating wildly. A few rushed past them out the exit. "They seem to think this is the plague," Kiyoshi's voice was heard over the uproar.

Eisaku blinked. "We shouldn't entirely dismiss indigenous knowledge, but…" he trailed off, looking at the front desk clerk who was heatedly addressing another staff member, who quickly dashed behind a corner to what appeared to be another room.

"Remember that I said I had to deal with a few now confirmed plague cases today at the almshouse?" Kiyoshi asked. "This is giving me flashbacks to that, the suspected pneumonic cases in particular."

"Certain death then," Eisaku replied, nodding solemnly. Working in the medical field, he had experienced it before, and it was everytime disturbing.

The woman in the trio seemed to be pleading with the front desk clerk, about what, he didn't know. Someone threw a mug at the slumped man, hitting him with a thump. Several people in the room were… praying? They were on their knees, heads bowed, and seemed to be chanting quietly and intently.

"I saw something similar at the almshouse today," commented Kiyoshi, with an eye on the apparent devotees. "They kept repeating similar phrases over and over, something about this being the actions of some god, and them praying for forgiveness, as if this was their god's punishment."

A couple staff members—judging by their brown tunics—entered from that other room, carrying between them several buckets. One of them cautiously approached the center of the ruckus, and somehow the smell grew even worse.

"Huh…" Eisaku mumbled dumbfounded. It was one thing to not take the poo to the loo, but this…

People quickly rushed to the buckets, pushing and shoving to get their faces as close as possible, the concept of queuing foreign to them as was often the case here. They breathed in the air around the buckets eagerly, seeming to savor it as if their lives depended on it. A few chanted as they gulped in more air.

Eisaku did not think he had ever witnessed a more bizarre event. "This doesn't make any sense!" he burst out. He quickly ran through what he knew about local medical theory. "The… miasma theory prescribes bad smell as the cause of disease transmission," he finished as someone stuffed their hand in the bucket to grab for the human excrement. As they talked, they moved to a corner of the room, hopefully a little away from the faecal smell and the discordant voices which were drowning out their words.

Kiyoshi seemed positively uneasy. "Is it bad smell, or just smell?" he mused. "Could it be…" He quietened for a moment, seeming to listen in on the crowd. "We may have misunderstood the miasma theory," he finally said.

"How?"

"I heard the people talking about it earlier today as well, at the almshouse, although I didn't fully understand it back then, because of the language. But one thing kept coming back, an almost instinctive fear of… sweet smells."

Eisaku blinked. "But wasn't our beer sweet? And don't they eat fruit?"

"No, they don't mind sweet smells in normal times," Kiyoshi clarified. "Now, I shouldn't generalize, but if I had to guess... some locals believe that the miasma that spreads the plague is a sweet smell. The suspected patients were terrified because of it—they could smell it."

Eisaku thought that over. "The disease, whether it is plague or something else, must have upset their olfactory systems, or something of the like."

"Like the scent of early internal decomposition of some kind," added Kiyoshi.

"Our assumptions about their theory of disease transmission have been completely off the mark, possibly."

Kiyoshi sighed. "Why is it that everything about this place hinges on a knowledge of historical Europe? They are the ones who had to deal with plagues and miasma theories. Our country's scientific and academic base is going to have to dredge up what little knowledge we have of historical Europe, which is probably less than what is produced in a year in Oxbridge! Doesn't help that our Western students fled the country because of COVID-19, before we were spirited away. And you could Google basic things about European history, except Google doesn't exist anymore, nor the foreign websites. Had we known more, maybe I could have..." Kiyoshi cut himself short.

"Perhaps we should ask for our rooms," suggested Eisaku. "There is little we can do here, and it looks like things won't calm down." Staying here will only get us more agitated for no reason, he added silently. Away from the chaos, the shouting, the chanting, the crying, the locals fighting desperately to sniff buckets of feces.

But then he saw the front desk clerk pointing at them while clamoring. Catching their attention, he seemed to beckon for them to come over, though Eisaku could not be sure with his limited familiarity of local body gestures. Next to the clerk was another staff member and the unfortunate trio. Eisaku was not sure if the ill man on the ground was still conscious.

They made their way over to the clerk, making sure to keep some distance from the trio. There was still a chance this was not the plague, after all. Why were they being called forth?

Then the clerk spoke with Kiyoshi, seeming frustrated by the language barrier, and Eisaku quietly observed everything, surreptitiously adjusting the lantern. The child in the trio—a boy it seemed—was probably no older than twelve, and the woman probably no older than forty, although it was a little hard to tell. Some people here, especially the downtrodden, tended to look quite old for their age, as if worn out by their penurious existence. That and the grime made it hard to determine age and sex. The other two were kneeling by the ill man, staring down with defeated expressions on their faces. He averted his gaze, feeling disrespectful just by looking at them.

Kiyoshi and the clerk continued their discussion, the former making all sorts of gesticulations—often aimed at the trio—along with slow inflections of words to make his point. Kiyoshi finally turned to Eisaku with a bewildered expression. "They… want us to haul them out." He cocked his head toward the trio. "Or we will be refused our rooms," he added, grimacing.

What?!

"They probably don't want to do it themselves," Eisaku realized as he talked. "And since we are Japanese…" His heart went cold. Of course.

Even so, the idea of not distinguishing between customers and employees and their roles and functions, of the two being one, or maybe the concepts not existing at all, either separately or in relation to each other—the culture shock was real. Besides… He stole a quick glance at the trio. They looked despondent, completely resigned to being kicked out of the inn.

"Our infection control protocols are not agreeable," Kiyoshi said. "Of course, they've been mostly futile since we entered this inn, but…"

"Protocol or not, we can't do this," Eisaku announced. "If they don't want to give us a room because we are Japanese, let them." If only they hadn't taken our coins beforehand.

Kiyoshi nodded. "I was not able to pick up on most of what he said, but I know that those three are homeless—that much is obvious. Plague or not, they are in danger of serious exposure." He sighed. "We always knew that the odds of us dying by disease were high when we signed up for this. Just what was the government thinking—they probably weren't. I guess it can't be helped." He turned back to the clerk.

Were they actually going to…?

Whatever Kiyoshi was saying, it seemed to be putting the clerk and staff member off-balance. Out of respect, Eisaku did not peer at the trio.

They gestured and slowly enunciated words some more, then Kiyoshi fished for some more coins. "Hopefully the room they provide us is actually meant for five persons," Kiyoshi remarked.

---

"A local outbreak?" Minato uttered. He straightened himself in his chair.

"This is all from a preliminary report," elaborated the high-ranking official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The two, apart from his private secretary, were the only ones in his cold office. "Not much is known, but it seems to be a strain of the Yersinia pestis. Several confirmed cases in the city of Teerm, none among our expedition. We are informed also that expedition personnel are taking the appropriate measures for this situation."

Minato considered the situation. "You requested this closed audience, so I take it the foreign ministry wishes for this information to stay with a select few?"

With a straight face, the official said: "In our view, it is much too early to conclude the relevance of the recent developments on the parameters of our eastern expedition mission. The situation is still unclear, and causing too much of a stir around it before a firmer understanding has been established is not necessarily in our interests."

Minato wanted to massage his temple. "I'm sure you know, there are increasingly many in the cabinet who think the foreign ministry has been given excessive autonomy over the operations of this expedition, especially the defense ministry. Obviously, the foreign ministry is responsible for dealing with the issue surrounding our expedition and the outbreak. But if the situation escalates significantly, there is no way this can be kept from the public for more than a few days, nor should it."

"Absolutely, Takahashi-shushou."

Minato briefly looked out the window into the night. Due to measures to conserve electricity and gas, he was met with a mostly dark cityscape (and also explained why it was so cold in his office). "It is my hope that the foreign ministry will be able to manage this situation, with regards to the health and safety of our citizens overseas. Otherwise, the foreign ministry's responsibilities over the expedition might be seriously challenged."

The official's eyes widened slightly. "I understand, Takahashi-shushou."

"Until the situation normalizes, I would like daily briefings on this issue."

Minato rubbed his temple as the official left the room, considering this latest hassle the expedition was giving him. Misgivings about the expedition had existed from the very start. Few saw a need for Japan to seek relations with preindustrial societies at a time when the transfer had wreaked havoc on all levels of its society and economy. All the focus should have been solely on alleviating resource and input shortages and to spur indigenization and self-sufficiency. It was only for the intense lobbying from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (who was clearly concerned of its fading relevance), strong pressures from public opinion, and the Emperor's expressed wish (who theoretically should have no say in the workings of the government, but these were peculiar times) that Minato gave in and sent a token expedition as concession.

Of course, no one in the cabinet had seriously thought the expedition would produce much of anything, outside of acquiring knowledge about the local language and culture—despite being presented as a diplomatic expedition it was really more of a long-term research expedition. And no one (outside of the foreign ministry) particularly cared, as they had far more important issues to deal with. Let the foreign ministry have their small victory and have the government gain some PR with the public while the rest of them busied themselves with other matters.

And then the discovery that magic and mind-reading might possibly exist had changed everything. Suddenly the other ministries were breathing down on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' neck. The heightened relevance of their project only caused the foreign ministry to hold on even tighter to their exclusive rights over the operations. And since the possible existence of magic had to be kept from the public for now, the parameters of the expedition could not be easily adjusted, and the nuclear bombs scandal had complicated things further. So even though no one was satisfied with its current operations, the expedition kept going on as originally devised, only because no one was able to stop it or make any changes to it (the foreign ministry insisted that was the case anyway), while a low-key factional conflict for the reins of the operations were ongoing between the foreign ministry and the rest.

So far, Minato had remained reasonably impartial in this conflict, mostly supporting the status quo. But his own frustrations over the… approach taken by the foreign ministry kept growing. If the Ministry of Foreign Affairs somehow bungled their response to this most recent incident, the responsibilities for the operations might have to be reassigned.

---

The wretched groans of creeping death filled the streets of Teirm over the coming days. Buckets of blood filled up as townspeople cut their flesh to drive out the bad humors and corrupted blood, and many a townsfolk swooned in salvation, for they were saved. And then they died.

The stores and stalls that were bartering poultices and other ointments were quickly overcome by the many needy who sought cure from the plague. An owner who tried to resist found his head separated from his body. And still more were sickened, far more than could be served by the ointments. Those fortunate to be served rejoiced, and died.

People sat by the sewers, in the winter cold, trying to drink in the scents of succor, for surely the miasma would elude them. They would die from the cold, and the plague.

As more bodies piled on the cobblestones, a sickening sweet odor started to permeate the air of Teirm. In panic, the denizens lit many fires, using up all the firewood they had stored for the harsh winter, and the smoke drove away the stench of blight, and they were relieved. Death followed.

Those who could spare a coin or a hundred—more likely the latter—would often seek out the almshouses. "My son, we are here now", said Lord Heorstan, trying to usher his fading son through the crowd to the entrance of the stone building. He kicked away at a rat which scuttered too close. "We must pass, for my son needs to be tended to," Heorstan announced to the ashen doorkeeper with a haughty voice. He was a lord after all, and the person before him was someone lesser.

The doorkeeper nodded stiffly, holding his spear upright. "That will be two hundred crowns, sir. We had to raise the price again this afternoon, you see."

Heorstan bristled. "You dare to make demands of me, you ignoble lowborn! I'll have you know that I'm Lord Heorstan, holder of Eldmonsson's manor, and third cousin of Earl Almund! You shall let us pass!

The doorkeeper floundered. "Forgive me, milord! There are many people here with the black sickness, of course, the healers told me there are scarcely any more bedrolls, er certainly you shall pass sir—milord!"

"Indeed, just remove a few smallfolk so you can make space for us. And I expect a canopy bed for my son, not bedrolls." Heorstan instructed. "I will overlook your transgression for now, lowborn. Though I must ask, this almshouse is free of barbarians, is it not?"

"That is right, milord!" exclaimed a person from the crowd behind him. "They have been thrown out of here, and all almshouses! We no longer have to fear their wicked doings in our almshouses, on our sick."

"Aye, 'tis true the Japarians have been driven out," confirmed the doorkeeper. He guided them inside, letting another doorkeeper take over his duties. Heorstan held on tightly to his staggering son. Inside smelled strongly of smoke and excrement, no doubt to keep the miasma at bay. "Another one afflicted with the black sickness!" the doorkeeper called out in the archway to a hall full of people laying on bedrolls and mattresses, coughing and shivering and looking very much in pain. Healers in cloaks and robes scurried about, one of whom walked toward them.

"How did you know my son had been afflicted with the… the plague?" asked Heorstan in the meantime.

The doorkeeper shrugged ruefully. "Isn't that what will afflict us all, milord?"

To the west of Lord Risthart's citadel, in the Vestanvald Chapel, people assembled in the hundreds and hundreds. Inside was dark, as the weather was foul and let little light through the tall stained glass windows, and all candles had been recently plundered, along with the wine and everything else. Many shivered, from the cold or the mark of certain death. But it was cold, so cold this winter.

"The time has come for Angvard to exact judgment upon us," proclaimed a priest standing behind a bare altar. "The end is nigh, and the Black Death shall carry out the will of Angvard, and cleanse the world of the sinned. And that we may thank God for his merciful punishment and for our chance to atone for our sins. Let us pray for His righteousness, and seek his judgment!" The priest wavered, and for a fleeting moment his expression curled into a barely perceptible grimace. "And finally, let us pray for our benevolent King Galbatorix, the savior of our people and master of the civilized lands! All hail the king! All hail the Empire!"

"All hail the king! All hail the Empire!"

Then they prayed for atonement, a few vomiting blood as they did so. At the edge of the crowd, one man muttered quietly to his wife. "This can't be the work of Angvard… No, this has to be the work of elves. The ghastly elves have finally left their forest. They see themselves as the master race, and will vanquish us all to prove it!"

---

"Is the sea frozen during winter?" asked Eragon as he looked at a frozen puddle. They were everywhere in this part of the heathland.

Brom frowned. "Ice does not form in this part of the world," he muttered, half to himself. To Eragon, he said, "No, it is not, for the sea is filled not only with water, but also salt. And salt, as I hope you are already aware, prevents water from turning into ice."

It was Eragon's turn to frown. "But why is the sea covered in salt?" he asked.

"That is another mystery of the world," grunted Brom. "And if you plan on asking me why salt melts ice; I don't know that either."

They continued along the rutted road, and Eragon would ask the occasional questions. Several travelers passed them by coming from the opposite direction, presumably from Teirm, and Eragon was curious to examine each of them. Back in his village, there were many tales about the faraway cities, of settlements so vast one could scarcely see one end from the other, where thousands of people lived together, and where the nobles and the wealthy gathered in their castles, holding feasts and banquets most everyday. Of places where merchants and craftsmen sold the most expensive and most unusual goods, and where everyday was a new adventure, for a city was a place brimming with pastimes and activities. To him and his fellow villagers, the cities seemed almost like they belonged to a different world, so far-removed from peasantry, and indeed very few back home had ever set foot in one, and they relied on traders to fill them in on the happenings of those far-flung realms.

But the travelers they passed hardly seemed otherworldly. In fact, they looked… just like everyone else. Perhaps they were from a nearby village, rather than the city of Teirm? He didn't know what he had expected, but the very idea that the dwellers of the fabled cities would look like ordinary people was jarring. But, he supposed, maybe that made sense. At the end of the day, they were all people.

All humans look the same to me, Saphira chimed in.

These people did seem to be in a hurry though. Their faces looked grim and anxious, and it was clear they were pushing their steeds to the limit. Those traveling on foot looked quite weary, yet still trekked at a brisk pace, as if they were eager to get away from whence they came. And to whence Eragon was steadily approaching.